With her bags neatly packed, Emily was ready to leave. She looked around with nostalgia, remembering the child she once had been and how much fun she'd had there— even though the past two months had been the most harrowing period of her life.
The train station was too quiet for a Monday morning. It was usually a scene of total commotion — people hurrying to catch their trains, rushing towards the door, and squeezing through to get inside. It always bustled with such energy that it was difficult to imagine the station ever healthy without it.
A mist curled along the worn cobblestones, swallowing footsteps and muffling voices. Emily sat alone on a wooden bench, her flowing gown drab, just like her mood, her feathered cap tilted just slightly as if weary of being worn.
Her gaze darted around as if searching for someone, but disappointment shadowed her face as she lowered her eyes. In her hand, a piece of paper trembled — a second class ticket to Marseille. A heavy brown suitcase rested at her feet, its leather corners scuffed, the buckles tarnished by time. Inside were not just clothes but also the echoes of the life she had lived, and was now leaving behind.
She had worked for the Jasons since she was nineteen, taking care of their only son, Daniel, after a car crash left him paralyzed. She had been hired to nurse him, and for five years, she had not only nursed him...... she had loved him.
And to her surprise, he had loved her too. The Jasons themselves had embraced her, and even urged her to become their daughter-in-law, because they knew she was the only one who could love and care for their invalid son.
But then a miracle happened. Daniel regained the use of his limbs and with his recovery, Emily's place in his world vanished.
The miracle changed the plans and in no time, she was cast out of the Jason Mansion and called a misfit.
As she sat there on that bench, she remembered life before she lost her parents to a rare viral infection. She remembered her mother’s touch, her father's voice and her room that still smelled faintly of wild lavender.
A man’s silhouette emerged from the fog. Lean, strong, but slowed by sadness. He wore a woolen coat and gloves two sizes too big.
“Emily” he called softly.
She turned, eyes red. She had tried to keep them dry, but they had betrayed her. Just like him.
“You came,” she said, barely a whisper.
“I almost didn’t,” Daniel replied, sitting beside her. He looked straight ahead, not at her. “Didn’t think I had the right.”
There was silence between them, thick like fog, curling into every open space.
Emily turned the ticket over in her hands. “I waited for you in my house, for weeks. You said you'd come with me. That we'd leave together.”
Daniel sighed. “I meant it.”
“Then why didn’t you?” Her voice broke. “Why do I have just one ticket?”
He opened his mouth to speak, but words fluttered uselessly between them. He looked at her, finally. Her pale face, the quiver in her chin. The familiar strength in her sadness.
“My mother…” he began, “she found out, said she'd harm herself if I left with you. She's been sick ever since. I couldn’t leave. I—I didn't know how to tell you.”
Emily looked away. “So you think I didn't have the right to know.”
“I was ashamed,” he admitted. “I thought if I stayed away, maybe you’d move on. Maybe it would hurt less.”
She gave a bitter chuckle. “It didn’t.”
Daniel lowered his head. “I’m sorry.”
“I sold my locket,” Emily said suddenly. “The one you gave me on my birthday. Sold it to get the extra money for this ticket.”
His mouth parted in disbelief. “Emily…”
“I waited for you every morning, I sat by the window everyday, watching the road, hoping I would see you coming.” She looked at him now, and he winced at the pain in her eyes. “You said nothing in the world would keep you away from my side.”
He nodded slowly. “I know.”
She reached down and lifted the suitcase onto her lap. It was heavy. Full of yesterdays and tomorrows that would never be.
“I’m going to Marseille, I can't stay in this town anymore,” she said. “They’ve offered me work in a linen shop. It’s small. Humble. But it’s a beginning.”
“And I’m not part of it.”
“You had your chance, Daniel.”
“I want another, please.”
A long pause passed between them, filled with the hush of trains and the ticking of the station clock.
“Do you still love me?” he asked, barely breathing.
Emily stared at the rails ahead. A distant whistle called in the mist.
“I loved the man I thought you were,” she said finally. “The one who told me my name was forever carved in his heart. The one who taught me to love with my whole heart. The one who dreamed with me under the stars.”
“I’m still him,” Daniel whispered.
“Then why didn't you fight for us?” Her voice cracked. “When you said we’d always be together, I clutched that dream like it was life itself.”
He wiped the tears from his eyes. “I was so afraid. Afraid that my mom —”
“I only asked you to be honest,” she said sharply.
A loud horn pierced the mist. The train.
She stood, hoisting the suitcase, her ticket gripped tightly in her hand. She turned to him, eyes glistening.
“I wrote you letters every day,” she said. “All posted. None returned.”
He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small stack of envelopes.
“I read every single one.”
Emily gasped, her lips trembling. “Why didn’t you write back?”
“Because I didn’t deserve you.”
The conductor called, “All aboard for Marseille!”
She took a step toward the platform. Then stopped. Her heart thundered like the train’s engine, torn between memory and destiny.
Daniel stood, trembling. “Don’t go please, I meant it everytime I told you I loved you. It has never been the same without you. I want you back ”
She turned to him.
“If I don’t go,” she said gently, “I’ll be stuck in a place where love was once promised, but never kept.”
He reached for her hand, but she pulled away.
“You asked me once what ‘Bon voyage’ meant,” she said. “And I told you it meant ‘Safe journey.’ But you know something, Daniel?”
“What?” he asked, voice barely holding.
“It also means goodbye.”
The train hissed.
Emily stepped on board.
From the window, she looked out one last time. He stood motionless on the platform, a shadow swallowed by morning mist, a man with a pocket full of letters.
As the train pulled away, she closed her eyes. Her fingers brushed over the empty space on her neck where his locket once hung.
She also wiped her tears with the back of her hand. She knew she would never love again — never as much.
She did not know what the road ahead held — but it was better staying far away from him. She was better off alone.
Alone.
Bon voyage?
She smiled sadly.
No question anymore.
Just a farewell.
And a new beginning
That was her choice.
Images generated with AI.
🌸My Motto is: Work at making myself proud of myself.🌸
Thank you very much for taking time to read me. Have a wonderful day!